Heart Over Mind, Mind Over Heart
by OliviaHills
Summary: It was a simple decision. Eustace's life, or his freedom. And before Courage's head even made a rational argument, his heart had already chosen. Courage now belonged to Katz.
1. After The Game

Okay, I don't really know where this came from. I was watching Ball of Revenge and an idea just popped into my head like, "Hey Sydney! Why not find a way to make this episode more depressing, angst-y and yaoi filled then before!" SO I DID.

This story is, like my other courage fanfics (which I deleted cause I HATED THEM) is set in an alternate outcome, where Courage is too weak to use the scream, and ends up losing to the villains. But before they can kill him, Katz strikes a deal with Courage...what will happen? Tune in next week!

(Btw, should they just be like their regular selves in the show, or humanized for no reason? I think humanized (FNR) is easier b-cause I don't (CANT) write furry pr0nz. Sorry.

(BTW again, EXTREMELY off topic but I saw RIO yesterday. I thought it would've been a BIT better, but I still loved the characters and the story. Pedro and Nico FTW! If anyone has a chance to go and see it, SEE IT. 90% guarentee you'll fall in love.

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><p>After the Game The Deal

_My mind tells me to give up,_

_But my heart won't let me_

_Anonymous_

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><p>Thinking back, Courage believed he should've just given Eustace the damn blanket.<p>

Muriel had knitted and stitched so many other blankets, Courage just could've used any one of those to keep warm, and everything would've been fine and dandy in their little house in the middle of Nowhere.

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda. All of the things he _wished_ would have happened.

Although his head was face down on the cold basement floor, his arms covering his ears, Courage could still make out the distinctive cackling of the opposite team and, to his complete upset, the dry laughter that came from Eustace's throat, with the occasional cough thrown into the mix. Ashamed, he buried his head deeper into the floor as the first wave of tears began to start, each droplet burning his swollen eyes.

'_Don't you fret Courage, he doesn't hate you.'_ what Muriel had told Courage after Eustace had said he hated him kept replaying in his head, like some kind of broken record. For once, the wise woman Courage called his mother had been _completely_ wrong about something.

Eustace absolutely _loathed_ Courage. He had wanted him dead ever since he came to the farm and upset the balance of wife and husband. There was only supposed to be two people in the house, not _three_. But for some reason, Courage seriously doubted that to be the reason of Eustace's constant put-downs, cruel jokes and just plain nastiness towards him.

So then why _did _Eustace hate him so much?

Although deep in self-loathing, Courage still had enough sense to be on high alert, since almost all of his worst enemies, the villains he had the hardest time defeating, were in the same room as him. And sure enough, the cheering from the other side of the room ceased quickly, catapulting Courage into a panic as slow footsteps began to walk in his direction.

"No, no, _no_..." he repeated the two letter word over and over again in a whisper, while fresh tears escaped his eyes. He didn't want to die, not in such a pathetic position, curled on the ground, bruised and bleeding out. Yet he knew at this moment, while he was vulnerable, the person coming towards him had so many different ways of ending everything that he simply stopped shaking, closed his eyes and began to let unconsciousness overtake him.

A sharp kick to the stomach brought Courage right back to the basement.

"I _knew_ I'd live to see this day," the voice with an undertone of British made Courage grit his teeth, holding his stomach in pain, "But I didn't think it be so soon."

"This game wasn't fair," Courage groaned, raising his head to up at Katz, "Six against one isn't a game, it's a slaughter."

"And slaughtered you were," Katz laughed loudly, the other five teammates that still stood on the other side laughing at the same time he did, and Courage, who barely even possessed one angry bone in his body, had the overpowering urge to punch Katz straight between the eyes, but knew that if he even moved a muscle, he'd be dead faster then his brain could register.

"But I do have a...oh, what would you call the word? A _proposition_ for you," Katz sat, rocking on his ankles a bit and looking Courage straight in the eyes, "An offer you _can't_ refuse."

Courage glared at the con-artist and bit his lip in uncertainty, knowing Katz well enough to understand that something big was going to change if he accepted, "Fine. Tell me."

He chuckled, using a nicely manicured hand to slick back some of his red hair, "I knew you would listen. So, my dear boy, you have two options. The first option—we let you go, and you and the little old woman can live out your lives in peace, _" _Some of the villains moaned and groaned in complaint, but Katz still continued on, " _but_...he has to go to the kingdom of the Black Puddle Queen."

Katz pointed to Eustace, who skin had turned a sickly pale color as Katz's finger rested on him. He jumped up, mouth open and eyes fearfully wide, as the Black Puddle Queen smiled at Eustace, showing off a large set of sharp teeth. But before one word could manage to slip out of Eustace's mouth, the redhead continued the offer.

"The _next _option however," Katz paused, lowering his face down to Courage's ear and whispering, so the others couldn't hear anything, "Is we'll let both the old man and his wife live their lives peacefully...but you have to come and work for me. No interaction with those two, no pay, and no _leaving_."

"So I have to be your slave?"

"You could put it like that," Katz smiled darkly, changing his posture so he was sitting Indian style on the floor and looking down at Courage, "So, my dear boy, which will it be? The man that hates your existence finally meets his maker, or you becoming nothing more then free labor? Either way, you _will _suffer the consequences."

For once in his life, Courage was totally, utterly, and completely out of ideas. Every time something out of the ordinary, or just plain freaky took place on the farm in the middle of Nowhere, he would be the hero, saving Muriel and Eustace from disaster. Never once had he intentionally put either one of them in danger.

And Courage refused to change anything now.

"Alright," Courage chose to look not at the shady dealer in front of him, but locked eyes with Eustace, not even a flicker of emotions on his bruised face, "I choose number two."

Courage had been unable to hear the final words that came from Katz mouth as a strange buzzing noise in his ears and his fading vision told him sleep was coming. And with his final moment of vision, he smiled heartily at Muriel, who still hung above the pot. He could see the tears streaming down her face, as they fell into the pot with a soft splash. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay, yet he knew from the bottom of his heart that things weren't going to be okay anymore. He just hoped, _prayed_, that the villains would keep their promises.

But villains weren't really known for promises, were they?

Just as he slipped into a restless sleep, Courage caught the eye of Eustace, who sat on the steps, head down in shame. He looked over at Courage with glazed over eyes, and gave him a small tip of the hat.

'_Don't you fret Courage, he doesn't hate you.'_

And he couldn't hate him anymore. Courage had just saved Eustace's life, by sacrificing his own.

But just giving Eustace the blanket would've been a good option also.

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><p>Even when Eustace is a total dick to Courage, he still puts his life on the line to save him...why? Well, all will be explained next chapter. Review, of course, and go see Rio, in theatres now!<p>

(Goddamn, I sound like a tv ad.)


	2. Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Disclaimer: I do Not own Courage. Argh.

Not much to say in this Author's note. I am beyond pissed— the second chapter to my Rio fanfic got completely obliterated. Nothing was left, and that was like 2,000 plus words.

Oh my god, I could punch a small child right now.

ANYWAY, you guys don't need to listen to my angst-y bull, you get to listen to his ;) .

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><p><em>One: Waking Up is hard to do<em>

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><p>'<em>Courage...'<em>

_There he was again, right outside of the itty-bitty farmhouse that he called home, the dry heat making his breath shorten to quick puffs, and the cawing of various birds as they flew in circles above, waitin_g _for something to drop dead so they could get their lunch. _

_Courage stood up on shaky legs, stumbling a bit as he tried to take a few steps, but righting himself once more as a curly haired silhouette stood right outside the window._

'_Muriel! Muriel!' He called loudly, the shrillness of his voice matching the birds up above. _

'_That doesn't even matter now, ' Courage thought, forming a lopsided grin on his face, 'I'm home, I'm home with Eustace and Muriel, and now everything's gonna be okay, _I'm _gonna be okay..." _

_But Courage had an odd feeling as he neared his home, an ugly premonition that made his stomach do flip-flops and his heart leap into his throat, as the warm sun disappeared, and dark, nasty clouds rolled in. Even the birds had taken their leave. Something was wrong. _

_The house, _his_ house, had moved much farther then before, it's shadow giving it a dark undertone that reminded Courage of something sinister. No, it couldn't of been his home. This house, although bearing a striking resemblance to the farmhouse was...so foreign. _

_Although he had stayed in the same spot where he had awoken, the house still–_

_Courage stopped in his tracks, a dazed look on his face._

_He didn't remember waking up. _

Courage gasped, sitting up straight and eyes opening wider then Muriel's finest china plates as reality hit him hard, and brought him back to the his eyesight slowly was brought back to it's original state, he gulped hard, realization hitting him like a steamroller.

Courage definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore.

The bed he now rested in was nothing like his own, this one being nearly twice the size as his old bed and nicely decorated, with expensive looking bed sheets and pillowcases, compared to his attic bed, with just a few white blankets and two measly pillows. Even the room was absolutely gigantic, painted a mahogany-reddish type of color and housing a big desk in the corner.

'_But something's obviously missing,_' Courage bit his nail absentmindedly, as he gave the room a once-over, silence hovering over the room like a dark cloud. Not long after, however, was the silence broken with a sharp intake of breath.

There was not one phone, computer or TV in this bedroom.

"–_but you have to come and work for me. No interaction with those two, with anyone, no pay, and no_ _leaving_."

Courage cried out, near the brink of a nervous breakdown. The haze that had faintly taken over his mind faded away, and every memory poured back to him like a broken dam, giving the poor thing an awful headache.

'_No interaction with those two, with anyone,' _

The whole ordeal in Muriel's basement sent a sudden stab through Courage and the room that was so big moments ago, began to shrink, quickly closing in. The room temperature skyrocketed, and Courage struggled to breathe correctly as everything around him started spinning, furniture and room decor becoming just blots of different colors.

"_-and no leaving." _

He just wanted to hide. Hide, curl up in a ball and wait until Muriel would come and rescue him from this nightmare. Then, after whatever strange situation Courage found himself stuck in, was over, they would go home like always, and Muriel would cook up some of her_ awful_ too-much- vinegar meat loaf and blueberry pie, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened earlier that day. Eustace would be in his chair reading the Nowhere News and grumbling to himself on how Courage was more spoiled then he was, and everything would be just like it was the next day.

He shook his head lightly, a sad smile on his face. That nagging voice in the back of his head, the one that had saved him so many times from so many awful demises, knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

And it _hurt_. It hurt his entire being to know that there wasn't a darn thing he could do, but wait out this storm.

Once again, he shimmed back down into the covers, resting his head on a soft pillow. There was no use to be anxious over something that happened in the past.

But, the anxiety concerning his_ future_ was another matter entirely.

Courage had barely managed to make it past a light, restless sleep when the mahogany colored door burst open, startling the young man awake. He sat up quickly, rubbing his sleep filled eyes to get a better view.

"Sleep well?" That suave voice and the light chuckle that followed it stopped Courage's movements cold. "I thought you'd never wake up."

"You..." He glared hard at his supposedly arch-nemesis, teeth gritting together loudly and hands balling up into fists. Although there probably wasn't one violent bone in Courage's body, the combined amount of emotional stress and exhaustion made him ready to strike down anyone at any second. Katz was no exception.

"Wh–where am I? Where did you take me?"

"Don't you remember my–_our_ agreement, dear boy?" He chuckled darkly, striding into the room and stopping at the foot of the bed. In the faint light, Courage could make out the red of Katz's hair and suit, but his face still lacked any sort of distinction, "I grant the old man life, but _you_ have to give up _your_ freedom. So here we are, my boy—your new home."

Katz threw his hands up, gesturing to entire room, while Courage sat quietly in shock, slowly allowing the whole situation to sink in. Before every little detail truly had a chance to plant itself, however, Courage jumped in shock as a large stack of papers, almost as large as him while sitting down, was thrown into his arms. Katz stood over him quietly, pulling off and reviewing the paper that sat on the very top.

"These are the tasks I need finished by today, boy. Every single thing on these papers has to be done by six thirty, on the dot. Or else," Katz leaned over, coming closer so he and Courage were eye level, "there will be hell to pay."

With one more dark chuckle and another look at Courage, Katz made his leave slowly, strutting out of the room like he was top dog. Before the door could fully shut, he stopped.

"Oh, and Courage?" He mocked a nice and friendly tone, picking at the hem of his suit, "Be a good boy and try on your new uniform."

He didn't look at the exit long enough to see Katz take his leave, but looked down at the end of the bed to notice a brand new jacket, shirt and pants set, colored a deep red and adorning a capital K in scripture above the breast pocket and on the pants pocket.

Courage picked them up half-heartedly, one single tear running down his face as he began to slip the shirt on.

There wasn't any going back now.

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><p>sorry if this chapter is mostly filler and if it sucked, cause it kinda did (I didn't like this one as much) . Again, having kinda a shit day, but I also want to thank everyone who reviewed and faved this story. You made my week awesome :)<p> 


	3. Laments and Fireplaces

DreamCreator: Yeah, like 98% sure they're human for no adequately explained reason. Cause I wanna :3 And I think that main couple will be Courage/Katz. They'll be a few Courage/ Others too.

Moth Mask: A compassionate Katz? Then my story would only be like one chapter! Silly Goose.

KitKat: I'm sorry for making you look like a madwoman...I just didn't think the first ones were very good, and I couldn't finish them. But I promise, I won't do it again, honest!

And everyone who reviewed: Thank you all so much for the feedback! I love you all!

One More side note: I'm not relly going into description about Katz's house. I'm just sayin' it's big-you guys can interperate it however you want.

On with the story!

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><p>Chapter 3; Laments and Fireplaces<p>

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><p>"Wow..."<p>

The mahogany doors in his room slowly opened, and Courage couldn't stop the small gasp that came out from sheer awe of the beautiful house. Never, not even in his widest dreams, did he, a poor kid from Nowhere Kansas, ever expect to live in a such an amazing house. The farm obviously dwindled in it's size, and Courage even doubted if it could be the shed. More like the closet.

His heart ached, and he quickly took his mind off the subject too painful to think about.

He would've preferred the closet any day.

Getting back to the task at hand, Courage picked up the top list, finger slowly tracing along the typed assignments. For every task he had to complete, there was a very strict set of directions and rules, like exactly what time he had to start the task, the steps he had to take, and what time he would need to finish and move onto the next one. He scoffed softly as he read, some of the chores sounding absurd and most likely impossible.

_4:10–'Feed my babies their midday snack.'_ What in the world did that mean?

But it wasn't like he truly had any other options. He had made an agreement with Katz, and he would uphold it, to keep Muriel and Eustace safe and sound. Even if that meant putting himself in danger.

And he _was_ in danger– Courage knew full-well how insane Katz could be, as he had tried to kill him on several different occasions, be it by spider bite or explosive tea. Now, however, it was a whole different playing field. Courage was in the belly of the beast, he was a simple marionette while Katz was his puppeteer. He had the boy right where he wanted him, defenseless, confused and alone.

It scared him.

It scared him more then any of the previous villains he had faced ever would, the idea of being alone. He had been an orphan, wandering the streets for quite some time after his parents went missing, and the remembrance of the freezing winds and the dark nights still brought shivers up his spine, making him feel as if he was right back there. In a way, he was.

Folding the directions into fours, Courage shoved the paper into his pocket, the butterflies in his stomach becoming frenzied as he neared the staircase that lead to the ground floor. He was sure, no, _positive_, that the end of those stairs held his demise, and the chances that he would see his beloved Muriel or his cozy farmhouse ever again were slim to none.

He didn't have much of a choice.

With one slow intake of breath, he began to make his way down the stairs, and into chaos.

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><p>If there was one person Katz could take by the throat, strangle and burn in the fireplace, it would be Giuseppe Salvatore. That man was rude, ignorant, and smelled like a pigsty, not a trace of class found in his three-hundred plus form.<p>

He also had five children, so he'd have to make a couple of trips to the fireplace.

"Welcome back, Salvatores." The smile that plastered his face felt stickier then glue, and he had half a mind to drop the act and call them out for the lazy bastards they were, as daddy did everything for them. But Katz valued his family company more then a bunch of lowlife leeches, and opted to gritting his teeth in rage as the oldest, Lorenzo Salvatore, flicked the toothpick he had between his teeth onto the satin rug.

'_Disgusting mother fu–'_

"So what can I help you gentlemen with this fine day, hmm?" True hatred dripped from every word he said, yet none paid any mind, and went on either texting away or picking at their nails. Finally, the second oldest, Angelo, began to speak.

"Pop need'sa nother loan," His thick, Brooklyn accent pierced the air, as he dug the dirt from his nails, not really paying attention to what he was doing, "Shoe factory ain't doin' too well, ya know? Had'ta make a lot of layoffs lately."

"And that's my problem, how?" Katz placed his head in his hands, not even needing to feign boredom anymore, "If I recall correctly, this is the third time you've been here in these past few months, asking _me_ for more money. Frankly, I'm getting tired of loaning money to a factory that's destined to fail."

"Why you–!" Al, the youngest Salvatore, made a quick dash for the head of the table, but was stopped by two of his older brothers, who sat him back down in the suede chair. Lorenzo slapped him in the back of the head, and he winced.

"What I say, what I say?"

"Listen here, see," Lorenzo leaned in close, the toothpick sticking out of his mouth close enough to poke Katz right in the cheek, "You're family still _owes_ my father _big time_ for what he's done for you. So one measly little loan from America's biggest bank ain't gonna hurt, right?"

Katz sighed loudly, his morning headache turning into a migraine as the choices he had were limited. Yes, his family owned one of, if not, the largest banks in America, but business was not booming like usual. Too many failed loans and spinoff ideas (i.e. his failed Motel, Candy Business, Island tours and Submarine tours) was sending Katz Cash into plummeting into the ground, and the Salvatores were definitely not helping to bring it back up.

But he didn't have much of a choice.

"How much?"

He took one last glance at the fireplace.

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><p>Courage knew plenty about the word humiliation.<p>

He had first grasped an understanding of it when he was very young, and he had gotten his head stuck in between the fence while learning how to play catch. Shortly after that, he had half his tongue ripped off by a lollipop. It became more understood as soon as he was introduced to Eustace Bagge, his tormentor and person that got him into this mess. But Courage couldn't really find it in him to hate Eustace as much as he was supposed to—after all, he had no idea of his upbringing, and what his family was like. Maybe he had an awful childhood; maybe he had an amazing one.

Either way, Eustace found creative ways to humiliate Courage constantly. He would put on a mask and jump out of the closet, screaming 'ooga-booga-booga' and watching in sheer delight as Courage ran down the stairs shrieking. He constantly called him stupid, ungrateful, or a combination of the two. The final act, however, was when Eustace had called all his enemies together for an unfair dodge ball game, ultimately leading to probably the most embarrassing and pathetic moment of his life.

Courage, however, elbow deep in soapy water and hand scrubbing the linoleum floor of the kitchen, found this experience to be equally pathetic.

Loose strands of pink hair found their way into his face, and every few minutes he got to rest his exhausted bones and push the hair out of his eyes, ready to complete his final task of the day. Courage looked up at the analogue clock, groaning when he read the time.

10:55; he was almost finished.

As the final tile was hand scrubbed to perfection, Courage collapsed on the floor, absolutely exhausted. There was never a time he had worked so hard in his life–he had begun at exactly eight in the morning, washing the dishes, and folding the clothes. By noon, the chores were getting much harder, as he had to feed Katz's babies.

He glanced at the spider bites on his wrists, itching them a little. That had probably been the most disgusting thing he had ever done.

_And he had to repeat the whole cycle again tomorrow._

Courage pushed that to the back of his mind, relief flooding through his veins as eleven rolled around, signaling that he was done for the day, although he made no attempt to get up. Instead, his eyes began to roll back and his eyelids, now feeling as heavy as lead weights, drooped.

"Need some help, kid? Although that clean floor _does_ look pretty dang comfterable..."

Courage kept his eyes open long enough to see orange hair and sunglasses before sleep overtook him.

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><p>Hope ya'll liked it! I didn't go into too much detail about what he had to do, cause I doubt you want to read boring and tedious labor. There was nothing sexual (yet) about any of them.<p>

Oh yeah, and if you haven't figured it out yet, the Salvatores are the human form of the gangster foot. They own many shoe shops (I'M CREATIVE) The oldest is Lorenzo, then Mario, Angelo, Francesco, and the youngest is Al.

One more thing...which other of the characters would you guys like in this story? Katz, Courage, Cajun, LeQuack, Fucili, The Foot, Aquarella (They're definately going to be in it)..any more? Leave in reviews!


	4. Spice

Thank you everyone for reviewing! You guys make it worthwhile ;)

Anyway, this is officially the FOURTH chapter in Heart Over Mind, and things are going to start 'heating up'! ! (Get it? Cause Ca–)

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><p>Chapter Four: Spice<p>

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><p>Colors blurred into unidentifiable shapes as Courage managed to open and blink his eyes, still exhausted from the day before. Low murmurs coming from somewhere inside his room, somewhere near him, pried his eyelids open, and a wave of nervousness washed over him.<p>

" _Qu'il est bête, l'amenant dans la maison? Mon dieu, si Katz n'a pas été regardant sur le sale gosse, je l'assassiner_ ..."

"Cool yusself Jacques. He ain't staying but for a minute."

As the bilingual conversation continued, Courage stayed completely still, each breath and tiny movement cautious. Although the french native speaker couldn't jog his memory, the thick, Southern accent from such a long time ago gave him the creeps, but he dared not move a muscle. Any type of shifting or moving would catch thier eye, and they could easily overpower him. Wisely, Courage remained still, eyes shut tight and in mock sleep.

Before he had time to even reach his nose, the sneeze came out, strong enough to jolt him out of bed and rub his nose. Brown eyes met blue and green ones, and Courage found he manage nothing but a feeble smile.

"Anyone got a tissue?"

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><p>There were so many times Katz had failed to kill that meddling child. So many missed opportunities that it kept him up at night, and the desk in his bedroom was filled, near to the brink, with seemingly-workable plans, yet turned out to be a disaster, all because of that <em>damn<em> kid.

But the day fate smiled upon him, and his goal was staring up at him from the floor, he couldn't do it. Couldn't end it like that—_no_, that would be too easy. He wanted to break him first. And that's where his options came in, Katz full-well knowing which one gullible little Courage would choose. Everything was going according to plan.

Katz grinned, taking the first few steps into the staircase, as crashing and screaming sounds came from Courage's room.

What an interesting time it would be.

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><p>Courage had never, <em>ever<em> been hit before in his life, not even when Eustace was in a bad mood and the stupid kid was getting on his last nerve. He would scream and yell, of course, but never hit.

He huddled in the corner of the room, head under his arms, as his left eye swelled to almost inhuman proportions from being assaulted by an angry LeQuack, who would've probably beat him to death if it wasn't for Cajun holding him back. He lifted his head an inch, to watch as Cajun calmed the red-faced Frenchman down, and his presence was forgotten. The door opened, and in stepped Katz, adorning an expensive looking business suit combed to perfection hair.

"Jacques, Beau, I'd like an explanation." Silence hung in the air, each body anxious for an outcome. LeQuack shoved himself out of Cajun's iron hold, blue hair in a frazzled state, and a finger was pointed straight in Courage's direction.

_"Pourriez-Vous expliquer ce que il va, il fait ici_?" Ominously calm, Katz simply smirked as the Frenchman came slightly short of a complete meltdown, _"Cet enfant nous a coutet des millions de dollars dans des arnaques a echoue et a atterri chacun d'entre nous en prison! Pourtant, vous lui accorder un abri, de nourriture, sans parler de sa popre chambre foutue?*"_

"Frenchie's got'a point, m' friend." Courage, still untouched in the corner of the room, listlessly glancing on the bed, where the Southern chef lay on his stomach. The black shades glinted from the light of the lampshade, and although Courage couldn't see his eyes, he would've bet money that the man was staring him down. "Hope this is part of some big plan you stirrin' up, hmm?"

Katz simply winked, avoiding the question entirely. It was good enough for Cajun, however, as he simply chuckled and laid his head on the sheets, ready to be lost in dreamland. LeQuack huffed, murmuring something like _'Oubliez ce',_ and nearly storming out, until Katz re-opened his mouth.

"I may have let him live," short eye contact was made with Courage, who pulled away quickly, receding back into his comfort zone, "but the 'normal' routine–we devise a scheme to either rob or murder, and_ he_ comes in and saves the day–is officially outdated. The child is under _our _control, and we can do _anything_," Purple irises narrowed, and Courage felt a sensation not unlike being stricken by lightning, make him shiver, pulling his knees closer, "and everything we want to make his stay a living hell."

Suddenly, after every presence that once occupied the room had long been gone, Courage unwrapped himself, body hitting the floor painfully as he tried to rock himself forwards, something other then gravity making him feel sluggish. As he hit the floor, something ruffled the sheets on the bed, and he flinched as someone chuckled above him.

"Damn kid. Surely did it this time."

Cajun. Courage had completely overlooked him, assuming that he had left with LeQuack and Katz. Now that he looked back, he didn't remember watching that orange hair or black leather jacket striding out the door. God, couldn't he of just taken the hint? When everybody else is leaving, you should probably leave too, instead of watching this pathetic kid burst into tears on the floor, his heart split into two–

"Get up. Cryin' don't solve shit."

Not even giving Courage a chance to comply, a calloused had grabbed his own, encouraging him to stand up. He stood, thankful to get the smell of dusty wood out of his nose, and sat across from Cajun, legs crossed.

"Hm?" A black leather jacket was shoved in his face, and Courage, so fixated on the other events going on in the chaos of his new home, that the simple gesture of kindness was lost on him, and he limply stared at it, his mindset telling him it was something he needed to wash. Cajun shook his head, throwing the jacket over Courage's shoulders.

"Tired'a watchin' you shake, kid." he laughed at his own joke, "like a damn meth addict in rehab."

"Wh-why are you being so..._nice_?" Genuine confusion had Courage's head reeling, while Cajun simply shrugged, pulling a lighter and cigarette from his pant pocket, the smell of tobacco filling his room, "I thought you hated me, or wanted me dead."

"Hate, yes." he offered a puff, and Courage declined, although for a fleeting moment he _had_ considered, "Dead, no. 'Y see, that whole little...conundrum we had wit yo' Granny that was so long ago...I can understand where yuh comin' from. Someone messin wit my family like that, I'd kill em'...by throwing them in a pot of stew."

Courage blushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "Yeah, erm...my mistake. Sorry?"

"Half-assed apology, but I accept." He grinned, and Courage couldn't help but smile back. A possible ally sat directly in front of him, one person he might actually trust, given their bad history.

"Well, be headin' out, back to the kitchen," Cajun hopped up, stretching so hard his bones cracked, and took one step towards the door, stopping short. He turned back to the bed where Courage still sat, and tilted the kid's head up, staring him straight in the eyes.

"Keep that head high, kid," he pinched the bridge of Courage's nose playfully, as he protested, "You'll be fine. Katz...he may seem like Satan himself at first, but you'll warm up. Need anything, I'll be in the kitchen."

"Cajun–"

"Beau. My name is Beau."

A thumb ran over his jawbone, and Cajun's hand was gone. After a few seconds, so was he.

His aftermath left a confused Courage sitting on the bed, and an even more confusing airy feeling in his stomach.

* * *

><p>Four in the afternoon rolled around, and Courage's least favorite job sat just beyond the corner–organizing Katz's office. It didn't seem like much of a task, no, and he would always do a good job tidying and cleaning everything, but the next day it was like he hadn't touched a thing. Katz was a very neat man, yet his office constantly looked like a pigsty.<p>

So it was no surprise when Courage walked in that the place was completely disheveled. Papers were strewn everywhere, paintings and books lay on the floor, and occasionally, he would see a few chairs scattered here and there. Everything looked exactly the same.

Except Katz sitting behind the desk, of course.

"Four already?" He relaxed, his back hitting the chair. Strands of red hair hung in front of his eyes, the business suit he wore had holes in it, and his cheek was scratched in three different places. It looked like he had been fighting with something, and the other thing had probably won out, just by the exhausted look on Katz's face. It didn't affect Courage much, and he went right back on with the job, collecting the papers from the desk, floor and ceiling, when Katz finally realized he was there.

"Mmh. Hello there." Courage made a point not to acknowledge him, and Katz simply chuckled, still pushing his buttons, "Hurry up and finish, will you? I need some privacy."

"Can't you do that while I'm here?" He didn't look up, and continued collecting things from the floor, setting a chair upright. "Or at least go somewhere else. This is probably going to take a while."

"Rather not, my dear boy. Though this house may be much bigger then that..._hovel_ you lived in, I'm afraid this is the only place unoccupied by other people. This place requires much help, you know."

"That _hovel_ is my home, and I'd _appreciate_ if you wouldn't insult it," He held the book in his hands so hard the whites of his knuckles began to show, and it took all restraint to hold back from throwing the object straight at Katz's face, "Besides, you had enough money to finance all those _failed_ scams, yet not enough to buy another damn empty room?"

The blow was dealt, yet Katz wasn't finished yet. A moment of tense silence passed, Courage angrily sweeping and cleaning, Katz simply smirking, and the straw that broke the camel's back was said.

"'Failed scams' turned you into a slave. Would you like the next one to send your dear Muriel to the graveyard?"

The few moments after seemed like a blur, after the broom that Courage once held between his fingers went flying towards Katz's head, knocking books off the shelf behind him. Before Courage could do any more damage, Katz knocked him to the ground, fists flying and tempers high.

"I hate you! I hate you so much! You-you bas-"

A warm pair of lips cut his sentence short, the pent up frustration, pain and anger bearing it's head as the kisses became desperate and needy, and right over wrong had no meaning in Courage's world anymore. Courage groaned, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Katz's back as he deepened the kiss, forcing a tongue into his mouth. It was wrong, it was god awful, yet he just couldn't bring himself to stop.

Until he realized _who _it was. The man who had attemped the murder of Muriel. The man to blame for his enslavement.

The man who ruined his _life_.

And Courage quickly pushed him off, scrambling for the corner of the room as Katz caught his breath, the realization of what they had just done dawning on both of them. He looked at Courage, panting hard.

"Get the hell out."

It was the first thing Katz said that Courage obliged to.

* * *

><p>WHAT LEQUACK IS SAYING: '<p>

To Cajun: _It's stupid, bringing him into the house, My god, if Katz wasn't watching him, I'd murder him._

TO KATZ: _Would you mind explaining what the hell he is doing here?"_

_That child has cost us millions of dollars in failed scams and landed each of us in jail! Yet you grant him shelter, food, not to mention his own goddamned room!_

I hope the translation is right! If it's off, just tell me!

'Failed scams' turned you into a slave. Would you like the next one to send your dear Muriel to the graveyard?"

If you guys didn't get that-by failed scams, he means the dodgeball game, but it wasn't a failed scam, hence the 'quotes' . Katz means that if Courage dosen't do what he's told, his next 'failed scam' will be the death of Muriel, and Courage attacks.

Hope ya'll liked it! Review!


	5. Bet's Aftermath

Disclaimer: I do not own Courage. Last time.

And it's the Shortest Chapter in the Story! WOOOO.

It just kinda shows what happened after he was kidnapped. Again, it's short, sweet, and to the point. They miss Courage (Computer won't admit it).

Thank you guys for all the positive feedback!

* * *

><p>Five: The Aftermath.<p>

* * *

><p>It was too painful to go into the attic anymore, since the whole room still reminded Muriel of Courage.<p>

Her Courage, who hadn't done a thing wrong in his life, except tangle with the wrong people, but for a good reason; to save his grandmother. Courage, whose things still sat up in the attic, because Muriel hadn't mustered the strength to move anything up there. She clung pathetically to the hope that he just went into town for a few hours to get something and would come back through the door any minute, and make Eggplants with her.

'_I hate vinegar. Why do you use so much?_' Courage always made the same disgusted face as a whole bottle of Vinegar was poured into the pot, while Muriel just scolded playfully.

'_It just adds a little more…love to the recipe.' _She always told him that, though Muriel herself didn't quite think of Vinegar when someone was talking about love. But Courage nodded anyway, and never questioned what she said. He knew his Grandma would never lie to him.

Muriel rocked back and forth softly, trying to find a way to relaxed her suddenly strained nerves. She knew her Courage well; he saved her, saved Eustace, more times than she could count, and she knew that he was extremely adaptive when it came to odd situations. Heck, even on his first day at the farm, when he was no older than seven, he managed to fry a dangerous chicken from outer space, and saved their home.

How many seven year olds can say they did that?

Yes, Courage would be okay, but the fact that Muriel had no idea where he _was_ almost made that statement untrue.

She remembered hanging over a vat of boiling water, only a short drop away from death, and a man with red hair that she had seen repeatedly for the past few years was bent over Courage. He pointed to Eustace, then another female, and he said something else that Muriel couldn't hear, and Courage nodded. Then she woke up in her bed, and instead of seeing Courage over the stove, cooking bacon and pancakes for breakfast, the police of Nowhere were swarming in her house, asking Eustace questions and taking pictures of her basement.

She hadn't seen him since.

The same fate of his parents, something Muriel tried desperately to protect him from all those years, had befallen him too. He was gone, not a flake of skin or a piece of hair left behind, just like her daughter and her husband.

"Do you think he's okay, Eustace?"

The television was much louder than Muriel's voice, and Eustace was partially deaf, but he still turned his head, and though he wore the rimmed glasses that covered his eyes, Muriel could tell he'd been in deep thought too.

"I…I don't know."

And, like her little girl, Muriel had an awful feeling she would never see Courage again.

* * *

><p>'<em>It'll just be a short trip mom. We'll be back soon, so If Courage is any trouble—"<em>

"_I know how to take care of my Grandson, Rose," Muriel cut her daughter off quickly, while Courage rocked back and forth on the rickety old chair, six-year-old face gleeful, "And, if you've forgotten, I have had kids before."_

"_Sorry mom. I forget sometimes, you know?"_

_They laughed to themselves as Paul came from the dining room area, and grabbed his coat. Rose followed suit, throwing on her plad petticoat and flower hat._

'_Mama, can't I come with you?" Courage pouted, tiny arms crossed and face adorning a mock angry. Rose shook her head, picking the little boy up._

"_We'll be back soon, love. I promise."_

_He stretched out a pinky, looking at his mother expectantly._

"_You promise?"_

_She laughed, extending her finger and intertwining it with Courage's, and the boy giggled as his mom nuzzled his forehead._

"_I promise."_

_Courage watched, toothless mouth in a smile as his mother and father walked out the door, already excited for them to come back. They were going to go to Jack's Ice Cream Shoppe after their visit._

"_See you soon, Courage. Love you."_

* * *

><p>Five days, and that stupid kid still hadn't shown his face.<p>

It's not like the Computer was _worried_, or anything; hell no. Not at all. Not in the least.

Okay, maybe he was worried_ somewhat_. But not much. Just a little.

It just wasn't like the little twit to be away for such a long time, without the decency to even tell him. The final time he had walked in the attic was last Friday, when he needed to find some terrible looking recipe to cook with the old lady. Of course, they had a short scuffle (as was mandatory) and he had gone back downstairs in a huff. Computer heard a bit of commotion and some screaming, a few hours afterwards, but paid no mind. He believed it to be the old man only screaming at some type of sports program, or if he had won something.

But when police began turning the room upside down the next day, collecting some of the twit's clothing items and personal things, there was a problem. And still, the kid was _nowhere_ to be seen.

On the second day, after the sun had set many hours ago, the police had cleared out and the farm was oddly silent, he was visited by an unexpected guest; the old man. Adorning his regular white shirt and night pants, he opened the door quietly, wincing slightly when the hinges creaked open.

He typed nothing, pretending to be in sleep mode as she walked past him. He didn't think him to be intelligent, just a toaster with a few nifty gadgets, a screen, and an inability to toast bread, and he would let it stay that way; after all, if he actually did say something, chances were the old man wouldn't react too calmly.

He walked past without a word and simply sat on the bed, tired eyes aged by passing years staring out the window in a dazed state, like he was stuck in an unending fog. The old man placed his head in his hands, and moaned in pain.

"My fault…It was all my fault…Katz, cheating bastard.."

Katz? Though Computer remained in 'sleep' mode, that name had his gears whirring and as soon as the old man was gone, he would begin searching. The kid had definitely said the name before, but he couldn't remember in what context. And he had seen some ads online about a place called Katz Industries. So could the names have something in common? If they did, Computer could have a lead on his whereabouts.

Not that he cared.

* * *

><p>The flashback featuring Courage's parents will be important farther along in the story.<p> 


	6. Judging Covers

Disclaimer: Do not Own Courage Cowardly Dog.

OK, for anybody that's confused—This is an Alternate Universe. Katz kidnapped Courage after he lost a game, and is using him for free labor around the house, cause he doesn't want to kill him (he won't admit it). Katz owns a bank/loan company (since he always trying his hand at several businesses, yet they all fail,) and things are going down the tubes for them. Cajun is Katz's cook, and childhood friend (explained later in this chapter) who's pretty chill if you get to know him, and apologizes for trying to eat Muriel. Has somewhat of an infatuation with Courage. LeQuack is also a big player (he comes up later) and tried his hand at working with Katz, but quit. Owns a French pastry shop. Freaky Fred is obviously Katz's barber, comes up later. So does Computer.

Hope I made it clearer. My writing can be a bit shaky at times.

By the ways, if anyone can tell me who Cajun is talking to at the beginning (Thought it be cute to make them friends), you get a cyber-cookie, brah.

* * *

><p>Six: Judging Covers<p>

* * *

><p>"Beau, you're the best cook I know. And I know a lot of cooks, my man. So…if you wouldn't mind catering to this little shindig I'm hostin'…"<p>

Cajun rolled his eyes in mock irritation, knowing full-well that Vick had always been that son of a bitch to stretch the truth. "By 'little shindig', that means how many people?"

He laughed sheepishly over the phone, and Cajun could practically hear him shrug. "Well, a couple…thousand. But you won't be the only one cookin' for this party. I booked a few more caterers, to deal with the appetizers and snacks and all that groovy stuff. I just need_ you_ to make the main course.

"Fine, Vic. Ah'll do it."

"Coolio, my main man. See you later. Velvet out."

He hung up quickly, and the disconnected tone rang in his ear until Cajun guided himself out of the fog his mind was trapped in, and placed the phone back on the receiver calmly. Something felt very off about this day, although it was like any regular Tuesday afternoon at Katz's manor, and everyone that assisted the company was off doing their regular things. Cajun himself was supposed to of started today's dinner—a choice of either Mushroom fricassee or Duck Foie Gras—yet couldn't find himself to do so, much less even take the cooking ware out.

He fleetingly thought of letting his protégés, or the less experienced Chefs, have their go at the dish, but Katz had his ways of finding out if his employees were carrying out their jobs, or if he had to make a layoff. Cajun believed it to be magic (hell, or voodoo) as he_ always_ knew who'd been doing good, although almost all his staff believed him to be the lovechild of Satan and The Grinch, and wouldn't go telling him anything if their lives depended on it. Not that he could blame them. Though he and Katz were actually somewhat close, even before their first encounter with the Courage kid, the man scared him more than a claustrophobic anthropophobian* in a packed train.

Cajun snapped back down to Earth (or Katz's kitchen) on his own, and finally stepped away from the phone, placing metallic pots and pans on the stove to busy himself, as his plethoric staring had begun drawing in a crowd who wondered if he was losing his mind. He was fine, obviously, as he suddenly clapped his hands, every startled eye turning straight towards him.

"The hell you standin' around looking at me for?" Cajun snapped, as master of the kitchen and the main chef, "We have dinner to make."

* * *

><p>There was no rhyme or reason to where Courage was headed. His legs decided that he just needed to<em> go<em>, the somewhere part being completely optional. As of now, he wandered the carpeted halls, the feeling of isolation in this alien place weighing heavy on him, though he passed many other staff during his journey. They, however, knew their purpose, and what needed to be done to prevent unemployment. Courage hypothetically was unemployed (he had been _kidnapped_, after all) and wasn't required to work. Of course he had the chores, but they lay in the back of his mind, and his mind still lagged behind him.

_He just locked lips with his worst enemy._

Courage shook his head forcefully, as if the thoughts and images were going to go flying out of his ears if he did so, and the flurry of emotion he was stuck in would finally lift. It didn't work, obviously, and the embroidered golden K on his red uniform made him feel more like _property_ rather than a person. But hypothetically speaking,_ he_ was property…

The boy stopped short, head resting in his palms as he attempted to block out the past few hours in this hell house, his optimistic side mulling over reasons why this disguised incarceration could hold something positive. Courage exhaled, unable to find a sliver of hope in this distant house, and sluggishly walked through the corridor, shoes scuffing the carpet.

And then he smelled something.

Something _heavenly._

Pointing his nose at the ceiling and taking a long whiff of the air (a smile brought to his lips as he saw other passerby's doing the same), he started in that direction.

* * *

><p>"<em>Selling the company<em>?" The shrill French accent had Katz nearly scouring his temples off, and he pulled open the desk drawer, sending the cap of an Advil bottle flying and downing three, "you can't be _serious, mon ami_."

"I'm not, LeQuack," Katz explained in the calmest voice he could muster, yet the con-artist's guise suggested he didn't buy one word, "But running this business is an extremely tedious job, and I'm not quite sure that I could do well by myself. Two years of full control, and I'm already sprouting grey hairs. I'm _twenty-six_, Jacques."

He bent his head down to give LeQuack the full view of his rapidly aging _cheveux_. Parting his regular red hairs and pointing to the newly grown few, he glowered when hearing a stifled chortle. Katz frowned, and LeQuack managed to regain his composure, attempting to play off the laugh like a cough.

"I didn't think you were being _serious, _Cornelius." Jacques shrugged lightly, face a flushed red.

"Mmh. Graying isn't even in my main list of problems. LeQuack, have you heard of a company called Growth Industries?"

The Frenchman tapped his chin thoughtfully, yet the name didn't come to mind, "Can't say I have."

"Well, the place started out as a business that dealt with hair. They were busted for unethical hair treatments, and they moved onto produce. The USDA received a complaint that the food was trying to eat _people_, so they were shut down once more. Once more, they have come back. You can probably guess what business they're trying their hand at now."

"Cupcake shop?"

"Close, smartass. _Banking_. Growth Industries is now Growth and Dilworth, and it's beginning to be a major competitor as the bank of the poor, or middle class, in America. It's quite amazing how fast they've flourished in such a short amount of time, actually."

"Ah." Jacques nodded quietly, tapping his suede shoes lightly on the carpet, "And how do they concern you, Katz?"

The young tycoon sighed, pushing his hands through his graying hair, and LeQuack froze in shock as they locked eyes, and remorse was completely evident in his irises.

"They want to buy my company."

* * *

><p>"Oh sorry, I-I must've just…gotten lost…I'll be outta your hair—"<p>

"Nonsense, m'friend," Though Cajun was somewhat surprised he had actually wandered his way here (the house was gigantic, after all), something in his stomach lit up when he glimpsed pink hair (clashing with the red outfit—he'd have to talk to Katz about that) come walking into the kitchen, "stay a while, take a load off. You can take a seat on the counter, if you'd like."

"Thanks." He smiled sheepishly, unable to show any teeth as he did so, yet Cajun couldn't help but smile back, the action becoming infectious to him. He turned back to the task at hand, mincing the onions and dicing the tomatoes, as Courage quietly watched his fingers fly, eyes wide in silent awe. Cajun, still chopping up the vegetables, turned back to him and winked.

"So how're you makin' out so far?"

"Terrible." the blush faded from his cheeks, and a forlorn look was made apparent by his eyes, leading Cajun to believe he had pried too far, "I hate it here. Katz is just too demanding, there's nobody I recognize here…Cajun Fox, it's just too much. I _hate_ it."

The water was boiled, and Cajun cleanly slid the onion and tomato off the cutting board, where they hit the hot liquid with a mild hiss, before continuing.

"I got you. When I first met Katz, and we must've been the same age at the time…like seven, I guess—he freaked me out big time. Just gave me this vibe, you know?"

Courage nodded, eyes narrowed in confusion, "You knew Katz when he was young?"

"Yep. Cornelius Katz. Well, everybody just called him Katz, like they do now. My daddy was his pop's personal chef, and sometimes he would bring me over so I could help out, or hang out with Cornelius. He didn't have many friends, a big surprise."

"Wouldn't have guessed." Courage chuckled.

Cajun turned to the younger man, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, "Shocker. Yeah, so Katz wasn't a very social—cat, per se. But he always loved building things. Like mini models of buildings and cars and all that other good stuffs. And he was_ good_ at it too…man, you shoulda seen some of the things he made outta like toothpicks and matches. A spunky go-getter at the time."

"Really?" His interest piqued up ten fold, and he leaned in closer to Cajun, intently listening about this side of his arch-nemesis he had never heard of, "What do you think happened?"

"His father, that's what. I only met him a few times, but that was more than enough," The Southerner stopped slicing cucumber, his mind wandering back to the past, "The man was a scumbag. Cornelius used to wear sleeves to try and cover them up, but I always saw the damn bruises. He would always make up some excuse, about how the cat scratched him, or how he fell over a chair, but I knew. And he_ knew_ I knew. So he became…what's the word? Distant, I think. Distant from all his family members, distant from his friends, distant from _me_…but not from his father. Everyday, I see him becoming more and more like that _bastard_, and—"

Cajun sighed heavily, unable to bring himself to finish slicing the cucumber as Courage watched in complete shock, mouth agape. He had thought them heartless, unable to love anything but themselves and money, until this stunning revelation.

"I'm sorry."

"Why're you apologizing? I should be sorry for getting you and myself tangled in this mess," He shook his head, glancing over at Courage sadly, "I never should've said yes to that old man."

Courage's eyes darted to the cook, eyebrow's furred in confusion. Old man?

"What old man?"

"The farmer," Cajun watched his reaction incredulously, mouth set in a straight line, "He called, askin' my help to get rid of you. I was gonna say no at first, but Katz and LeQuack talked me into it. Didn't you know he was the one that planned it?"

"I thought he had some part, but…" At a loss of words, Courage sat stupefied on the kitchen counter while Cajun closely watched, mind still enwrapped with their earlier conversation. He couldn't make himself come to believe it; Eustace had made this whole mess for him. Eustace, who he had done nothing to, wanted him gone. Eustace, who he cooked breakfast for, whose feet he rubbed when he was feeling stressed, whose bath he ran when he didn't feel like doing so—wanted him dead.

He must've looked absolutely heartbroken, as Cajun strode up to him, planting his arms on either side of his legs and leaning closer to Courage's face.

"Looks like we were both fucked over, huh?" He nodded, and the cook laughed sadly and softly, "Well, there isn't much we can do about that."

"Except," Courage poked Cajun's nose with his finger, chuckling at the man's surprised expression, "Letting me help with the cooking? I feel like I need to be of use."

Beau's smile sent a jolt-y feeling through Courage's body, and he hopped off the counter, making a beeline for the sink.

"We'll start with the eggs, kid."


	7. Please Knock Before Entering

I'm back everybody:)

What, it's been like, four, five months since I've updated this story? Sorry everyone whom was kept waiting; lots of shit, like my first job, school, ect. Just kept my so busy that I was unable to write for a least a good two months. Busy schedule is finally winding down so I thought, hell, why not finish what I started? (It's a long way from finished, mind you).

Alright, so where did I leave off? Oh yes…Katz closes in on financial ruin, Computer has begun the search for his missing twit, and Courage is close to gettin' it in with Cajun Spice. Delicious.

And finally, LeQuack and (_) have a cameo. Hooray!

* * *

><p>07: Please Knock Before Opening.<p>

* * *

><p>Cajun had his own crosses to bear; the abuse of his best friend, abandonment issues on the note that his parents had to make infant <em>a la mode<em> of him when he was about four months, and that little cannibalistic trait passed on from father to son that made it somewhat difficult to bring home any women, on account that they would run the chance of being fried or fillet. But if there was one gift the Southern gentleman truly possessed, it was the gift of the skillet, of the pots and pans; the man was one mean cook.

"Need you to dice these green peppers, and when I say_ dice_, I mean _dice_," he gently pushed the knife and green pepper into the boy's hand, motioning the adolescent to the countertop, "said you wanted to help, and I don't want shitty dicing."

Corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile, Cajun left the boy to his work, sliding the black shades that rested on top of his hair onto his eyes, and began his own task of slicing up the raw fish to filet as soon as each piece was cut into neat little strips. A comfortable silence and the salty stench of cod filled the kitchen's space, the only two residents of the cookery totally engaged in either slicing or dicing the meal that would be edible sometime before the afternoon. Although Cajun listened to the sharpness of the knife hitting the cutting board, he felt conversation bubbling up; the kid wanted to ask him something, and he would bet money the question would be coming up before

"Hey, Cajun?"

A little early, but the imaginary bet was still won. He smiled, not tearing his eyes away from the fish, "Call me Beau, kid. And aren't you sup'osed to be dicin' that pepper?"

"I _am_," tone insistent, he pressed on, voice taking on a softer tone, "It's being diced as we speak. I just wanted to know why you wear those glasses while cooking. I mean, I can understand wearing them outside, and when it's really bright, but the kitchen isn't well lit, and it's like nine o' clock, and I've never seen you wear them in the sun…except that one time. So why wear them now?"

Courage didn't stray from the vegetable, though the knife had cut his fingertips more than once as here, in Cajun's kitchen, was the first time he had diced a pepper, or done any sort of serious cooking (Muriel never liked if he used the knives at home) and it showed from the uneven, sloppy pieces of pepper sitting on the cutting board. He kept at it, however, still cutting and shaving the little pieces to try and clean them up, knowing that Caj—Beau would say something, but hopefully wouldn't be too harsh.

Unsurprisingly, he flinched as something warm touched his back, and two hands covered his own.

"I'll tell you the secret of my glasses if you help he re-dice these peppers you ruined," he softly scolded, tone mischievous and hinting at something a little more than peppers, "guess your old lady ain't teach you much about cooking, hm?"

Courage chuckled to himself, attempting to disguise the light blush on his cheek as a sudden fit of coughing, "She didn't like me using the knives."

"I'm not surprised."

They laughed in unison, Cajun sliding his fingers in between Courage's as they did so, guiding his digits to the handle of the blade as their lighthearted attitudes slowly died down, and the feeling of anxiety seized the boy's chest. Suddenly, his focus no longer resided on the fruit; his attention was on the closeness of Cajun's nearly sweltering face to his own flushed features. Each puff of breath hit the back of his neck, not uncomfortably, but definitely not something he would want to experience every day.

"See, kid? Gotta chop 'em just like that, not too small but not too big…"

_Right…the peppers_.

"Oh…yeah, I got it," he nodded, turning his head just a smidge to meet the warm flesh of Cajun's cheek unexpectedly, righting himself quickly, though the urge to go crawl in a hole and die didn't let up, "N-not too small…not too big. Yeah."

"Then show me."

Courage nodded, and Cajun untangled his digits from the other's, though they simply rested on the countertop near him and the heat from his breath had yet to lighten up on his neck. Courage bit his lip nearly drawing blood (though he didn't think Cajun would much appreciate bodily fluids in his spices) as he handled the knife, the feeling of the chef's eyes watching his every move slowing his cutting pace drastically. A few quiet seconds trickled by.

As the smell of the fish in the oven wafted into his nostrils, he wondered what Muriel was going to cook tonight for dinner. He wondered if, in his absence, Eustace would help her cook instead of sitting lazily in his chair. It was a long shot, yes, but perhaps the old man would come through this time; he wasn't completely heartless, especially when it came to the well-being of Muriel…mostly.

_Is it even dinner time yet?_, he wondered, and out of sheer habit, glanced up, expecting to see the star filled night sky and the brown of the barren landscape that is Nowhere through that dusty old window he'd known for years and years. And when all he could see was the off-white of the kitchen wall, the knife stopped; he couldn't bring his hand to move anymore, couldn't bring the kitchen tool to resume its duty.

"Why you stop? Looks like you were actual'ly listenin'." Cajun praised quietly, voice suggesting he resided in his own little world rather than chopping peppers with his ex-enemy. He apologized, and the knife started up again, though the precision and carefulness had disappeared as the thoughts of his home resurfaced.

"Nice job kid, though you got a little sloppy at the end," That bayou-tinged voice whispered in his ear, probably trying to break the awful quiet and the rut Courage began to descend into. "Still wanna know why I wear the glasses?"

The arms that rested on the countertop snaked their way across his waist, pulling him even closer to the head chef's, and Courage could see the orange hair from the corner of his eye as his head rested on his shoulder. The ex-cannibal worked his way into the crook of his neck, rocking the small body back and forth.

The suddenness of reality hit him hard and Courage struggled to pry those arms off of him, "Cajun! Wh-what in the wor—"

"Y' said you wanted to know, right?" he softly chuckled, voice muffled, as he spoke from Courage's neck "Ask me first, then I'll let you go."

Courage paused, snapping his mouth shut. He had little to no choice in the matter, and if he wanted to escape the cook's stronghold, there would be no other choice but to comply with his demands; all he wanted was a simple question, right? Humoring the Southerner, Courage sighed in defeat, loosening the man's grip from his waist so he could face Cajun.

"Fine," he glared, loathing the man's smug expression, "Caj—Beau. _Why_ do you wear those glasses?"

Beau laughed, the sound filling the empty room like the smell of baking Cod and pepper, and took one of Courage's hands in his own, holding a tight grip so he wouldn't try to escape. Pressing him against the countertop, a hand once again wrapped around his waist, and Courage mustered all his self-control to keep a blush off his cheeks.

"Wanna know?"

"Yes." He whispered, suddenly allowing his eyelids to drift shut as he felt Beau's lips graze his neck.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know that the Southerner was quickly advancing closer; he was so near Courage could smell the remnants of cinnamon and pumpkin on his breath.

"Because the onions hurt my eyes."

The smirk awaiting him as his eyelids snapped open gave away the cook's little set up, and Courage could not will away the glare he mustered up in defense.

"I hate you."

"Understandable."

And as Courage felt the slightest sensation of lips on his own, the door swung open.

* * *

><p>Jacques didn't expect this.<p>

He expected the smell of cinnamon and Paprika, Beau's two most loved spices, to flood his nostrils once he stepped in the kitchen. He expected a smirk on his face as he watched the head chef shout orders to the kitchen staff or scold a new hireling on the proper temperature in which to roast a pig. Hell, he could even expect to see Beau doing the dishes, a chore the cook hated more than any, more so than what greeted him as he stormed into the kitchen.

Beau and that pesky Bagge child, pressed up in a lover's embrace against the countertop, frozen in near kiss.

_Mon dieu. _

"…My god." Dr. LeQuack could not force another word to come out of his mouth. Even Mr. Borra, a chatterbox that would not cease his talking from the moment they met to the minute they stepped into the kitchen (a rough time span of about sixty-eight minutes) fell utterly silent, unsure if words were entirely needed at this moment. From a good three feet in front of them, the boy stepped back, untangling Beau's arms from his waist, and bolted out the door.

Another moment of quiet passed, and Mr. Borra's talkative personality came back with a vengeance.

"Oh my. Scared the poor little thing, didn't we? Well, maybe it was for the best; the atmosphere in here was getting a bit awkward."

"Oui, Monsieur Borra," Jacques agreed quickly, more than eager to move onto the next room of the Katz Manor, "ze kitchen isn't much of anything. Our true _tour de force_ lies in ze dining room. I will take you in a queek second, but let me talk to ze cook first."

He bustled the benefactor out of the room, slammed the door shut, and cast what Cajun thought of as the nastiest glare he would ever receive in his life. He chuckled.

"The way you say 'quick' is hilarious."

"Do not try and switch the subject, Beau," though the thick French accent was difficult to understand, Jacques made it perfectly clear he was angry; and when Jacques was angry, things usually were set aflame, "What in ze hell were you doing,_imbécile_? Cornelius would 'ave your head!"

Cajun rolled his eyes as Jacques's voice went dangerously low, at an attempt to be threatening, "For doing a bit of fraternizing with an enemy?"

"No, _the_ enemy! He brought him here to make his life a living hell; not to smother him with affection and free food!"

"Hey, let's get one thing straight here, Jacques," Beau shot back, scurrying to retrieve the forgotten fish from out of the oven, which were already burnt to a crisp, "First, if anythin' were to happen, it would only be a one-time thing. And second…you gotta pay for _my_ cookin'.

Beau smirked as Jacques' face reddened in anger, and as a sigh from exhaustion was breathed.

"…Fine, Cajun. Do what you want; I don't care. Just stay out of my way today. Did you notice ze dapper gentleman in ze white suit?"

"How could I not? He was chattier then a parrot—Borri, right?."

Jacques let a smile grace his lips at that one, "_Borra_. Signore Borra. He is a benefactor that has his eye on the corporation; he is willing to donate a large grant to Cornelius if they decide to work toge'zer on an Arctic expedition."

"Arctic Expedition?" Beau dumped the fish in the trash as Jacques slicked his blue hair back in stress, "what for?"

"_Acune idee_," Jacques shrugged, striding towards the exit of the kitchen, "All I know is zat he is very inclined with aiding the environment. Any more leaks out, I will tell you."

Beau nodded, casting a hearty smile toward the French man, who graciously returned the gesture. As he raised a hand, waving goodbye to his old friend, Jacques stopped.

"Oui, and Beau?"

"Hm?" busy with cooking another batch of fish for the upcoming dinner, the cook didn't bother to look up.

"If I ever see you zat close to ze boy ever again, I will 'ave to intervene."

"Understood, Jacq," Beau winked, dumping the peppers into the pot with one hand, "Just don't tell Cornelius about this."

"About what?"

Beau glanced up, ready to open his mouth, when Jacques winked. He closed it, smiled, and went back to work in silence. The doctor spun out the door, deeply apologizing to Signore about his tardy behavior, to which Signore forgave instantly, and began talking once more. As they walked down the hallway, Jacques sharing all of his knowledge about the house and its owner to the environmental activist, he caught a flash of pink in his vision, and an idea suddenly surfaced.

'_The boy is causing us too much trouble, even while in our grasp,_' he concluded, as Signore still prattled on about some global warming idea, _'I want him miserable, bruised and bloodied and just steps away from a complete breakdown—'_

And then a thought struck him; struck him so suddenly, even Borra stopped chatting away to ask him what the problem was. He said nothing, of course, but the thought was so grand that even he could not keep the smile off his face.

_I will humiliate him. I will make him pay. I will make him suffer._

The mantra glued in his thoughts, Jacques resumed talking about the manor.

* * *

><p>Signori—roughly translates into man in Italian.<p>

Borra—snow.

Signore Borra? Man-Snow? _Snowman_? Get it?

And LeQuack has something dastardly in mind-I wonder what? Tune in for the next chapter of HOM, MOH.


	8. Psyche

**[OPENING CENSORED BY SOPA*]**

* * *

><p>Chapter Eight: Psyche.<p>

* * *

><p>A subdued wheeze broke the suffocating silence of the house for just under a second, but the sound had enough depth to it he looked up; the paper rustled in his lap as it was jostled from its usual place in front of his face as he saw his wife, struggling to walk over the threshold to the kitchen, a fairly easy trip. Eustace could see her frame heaving up and down from the immense difficulty the few steps posed, and Eustace, mostly all poker-face and bad attitude, actually felt a bolt of lightning jolt his heart. Something was wrong.<p>

"Muriel?" gingerly (not without some protest from his age-old bones, however) he arose from the comforter, allowing her plump hand to grasp his skeleton thin arm tightly as he escorted her back to the rocking chair, "Muriel, sweetheart? Is everything alright?"

She opened her mouth to verbalize a response, but instead a cough belted out; incidentally, it was at that time he noticed how pale her face had become. He could tell, even without glasses on, she was mush skinner then before and still losing weight at a rapid pace. Her eyes didn't sparkle like they used to, and he could only look on sadly as the jaws of age gripped his wife by the jugular, and Eustace doubted they would ever let her go again.

She caught her breath after a time, smiling as if it had never happened, "Sorry, dear; just a bit of a tickle in my throat. But I'm okay. I'm alright. These old bones have been through worse, y'know."

"Are you positive?" he prodded just a little more, unsatisfied by the rushed answer she supplied him with, "you've been like this since…since—"

"Courage was taken." Politely she finished the sentence, but sixty years of commitment gave them a good understanding of each other; every one of those three words were forced out of her mouth, and he knew how much it hurt her to say his name, "I know, I know. But I'll be okay, Eustace. I promise. I…I think I'm just adjusting to losing another person I loved with all my heart; it'll pass, I'll heal, and for the rest of my life, I'll sit here…wondering what could have been."

She rose, the chair creaking in protest as it was used for support and began her journey across the living room and the ascent up the staircase, and he could hear the wheezes and the coughs belt out of her throat like she was some kind of melancholy steamboat. He couldn't manage to turn and watch her leave; instead, like the cowardly man he was, he sat in that damn chair, listening to his spouse of six decades die slowly in front of his eyes with that damn paper in front of his face, wondering what could've been.

* * *

><p>Today—he called everyday today now, since Katz didn't believe in calendars and he had no way of getting the time and date anymore-was an especially brutal day to do chores.<p>

Bruises and rashes covered his arms in so many places, he could barely make out the paleness of his skin anymore, buried under a motely of bodily harm and hurt; yet persistently he scrubbed the floor like it was all he was destined to do, like he had been conceived and raised just to clean and sanitize. Incidentally, it was all he was tasked with; clean this, feed that, scrub those.

Courage wiped the sweat from his hair, hissing as some fading dye seeped onto his face and into his open eye. He wiped it clean to the best of his ability, taking a rag from the sink adjacent and scrubbing his head; uncared for, even the dye that made it pink had begun to trickle away, and he could do nothing as the bright pink turned into its original color, a dark-almost-black brown. Groaning, he rubbed the floor vigorously when the pink began to stain that as well, and he wasn't in the mood to listen to Katz's complaints on dirty floors.

He hadn't heard footstep entering the bathroom, nor the low hum accompanying them; he had, however, heard something on the counter, and when he swerved to look, it was, of course, the one person he didn't want to see that day.

Speak of the devil, huh?

"Good day, dear boy. You do realize it's almost tomorrow, don't you?"

"Didn't even notice until it hit eleven." He stated sarcastically, sweat beginning to blur his vision as he cleaned like mad, determined to be rid of this maniac by means of rest, "cleaning is my life's work, you know; and today's list was especially brutal. I'm so _happy_ I did all that work with no compensation."

He didn't respond; Courage looked up to notice he was too busy looking at the new hairstyle, and by the cocked eyebrow he could tell the man didn't mind it.

"I've seen you so many times with that atrocious pink hair, I completely forgot there was a real color under it," to his grief, he had to stay completely still as Katz ran a hand through it, twirling one of the strands and pulling; he felt the urge to respond with a slap in the face, but repressed it, simply letting his head jerk in the direction his hair was pulled, "It goes well with the outfit."

"Gee, thanks." End conversation there, continue scrubbing the floors silently, uninterrupted; of course Katz would never let that slide.

"Am I troubling you, dear boy?"

_Obviously. _"No, no…I'm just really tired and I want to finish these damn floors so I can go up to my damn room and get some damn sleep," he threw the soaked rag onto the tiles, repeatedly wiping away the color residue that dripped down his forehead and plopped onto the floor, pretty much ruining an hour of hard labor, "I want to go to sleep."

The redhead listened silently, not compelled to interrupt until after the boy's subtle outburst, and even then, Courage could faintly make out the tease of a smile on his lips.

"Didn't think you were one for swearing, child."

"I've learned a lot about myself these past few weeks," he stated, rhythmically running the towel over the linoleum floors; finally, he managed to hold back a sign of content as only a section of the ground remained dirty, and that would only take him about five minutes tops, "being kidnapped does that to a person."

He heard the man snort behind him, "_Please_, love. You over exaggerate your stay here; I have graced you with a beautiful room, spared your life and your grandparents', and simply demoted you to chores without pay. I just do not permit you to leave, or have any contact with the outside world," the man inspected his spotless fingernails, flicking a miniscule speck of dirt onto his recently-washed floor, "you take my hospitality for granted; by now, I could've sold you to the black market or given you to some pervert outside of the country."

"A sex slave?" Courage raised a brow in partial fear, and the man on the counter chuckled darkly, flitting his purple irises to meet the boy's brown ones.

"I prefer the term 'pleasure servant', but it's all the same idea."

"Huh." He turned back to the task, though he made sure to be on high alert when nothing stirred, and he could still feel the man's presence behind him; his lids drooped in exhaustion, but there was one question still on his mind, and before he completely passed out from a long, hard day of work, Courage turned around once again.

"Then why didn't you do that?"

Katz, preoccupied by the blank white wall turned his head, meeting the other's stare once again.

"What?"

"Then why didn't you sell me?" he repeated, dropping the rag in the dank water and taking a seat on his haunches, "Why didn't you sell me to the black market or give me to some guy that would do nothing but feel me up all day long? I'm positive I would have been much more miserable there, instead of in a house that makes the farm look like a storage closet. Easily, you could've made my life a hell of a lot miserable; so why didn't you?"

The bathroom was silent. Courage had ceased any movement, watching Katz as he simply sat there, a somewhat dazed look in his eyes; he looked far away from this place, somewhere warm and nice and fulfilling instead of in a cramped space with an adolescent who would revel and cheer at his death if it ever came. And he was prepared to wait. He was prepared to sit there, to struggle to keep his eyes open as sleep gripped his body with an iron hold, to wait in the silence as long as it took, so long as he would finally receive _something_, anything.

Minutes past; still, he looked up at the older man expectantly, craving a response that would finally put his rampant mind to rest. And that response began in the form of a soft, subdued laugh.

"I knew there was a reason I kept you."

And with that, his feet landed on the floor. He gave the boy one pat on the head, quickly intertwining his fingers in the soft brown strands, and slowly took his leave.

"Finish up, Courage. I'll have you work until eleven in the morning, if necessary."

And with that, Katz took his leave; unknowingly, he left a sated yet needy child, one part of him wondering what he meant by those words and that gesture and the other part simply happy to be called Courage once again.

* * *

><p>Three weeks, four days, five hours; almost a month since the twit had suddenly disappeared off the face of the Earth.<p>

Shortly after his sudden departure from the farm, an investigation had been launched. For a good week and a half, Nowhere Police and Kansas Law Enforcement had swarmed the house, and nothing had been left untouched; they filed into the room like a disease, inspecting all of the twit's disguarded items from his clothes to the pink dye he hid under his bed that made his hair that awful feminine color. Hell, they had even conjured up the gall to probe _him_, to sort through all the files and programs the child had left on, to find something, _anything_ that would give them a lead on their missing person.

And Computer had given them that lead; he had gone through the liberty of pulling up the Katz Corporation main website, made a point to zoom into the name Katz, hell, he even went so far as to type _'this is your guy!'_ into the search bar, but his efforts were dully noted. The police gave it one day of searching through the files, found nothing, and left him alone the rest of the investigation.

"Katz, that was his name," he remembers hearing the old woman say during the fifth day of the search, and already he notices that the numbers of law enforcement had dwindled significantly since the day they began, "he owned a motel a few years back, then a candy shop and a cruise line. He was the one that took our Courage."

"So, let me get this straight ma'am," he asks for the thousandth time, and Computer has half a mind to simply get up and shake this idiot until he realizes that she _is_ telling the truth, and they should go busting into this guy's mansion to go get his twit back, "you're accusing Cornelius Katz, son of a banker tycoon and one of the most brilliant minds out there, of coming into your house, tying you above a boiling pot of water and stealing your boy away from you to substitute the murder of your husband?"

The old woman nods, a deep groan coming from her throat, "I know how far-fetched it sounds, sir, but I swear to you, it is the truth. He took my Courage away," Computer could hear the undertones of tears in her throat, yet the cop remained sallow and unfazed at the change, "he was the only thing I had left, and that _monster_ took him away."

The officer let loose a deep sigh; turning away from the old woman and taking in the entire abandoned attic, he nodded his buzz-cut head, ushering the elderly lady out of the room.

"It's alright, ma'am. We'll find him soon; don't you worry about it."

Three days later, the investigation was discharged; they told the pair that the evidence was limited, and it looked more like the twit had run away instead of being taken away.

"We just don't have enough proof to be sure it was him," the head chief, an arrogant prick Computer couldn't stand from the beginning, patted the old man's shoulder in an insincere gesture of comfort, squeezed Muriel's hand as the tears began to soak the carpet below, "it's highly unlikely someone like Katz would visit a place like Nowhere, much less know it existed. Maybe it wasn't him you saw…basements are dark, you know, so maybe you saw someone else and mistook it for him—"

But they know what they had seen; Computer knew, simply from the twit's stories and experiences he had shared with the machine, it could not have been anyone but him. They were not mistaken, but they were labeled as old and senile. One of the bloody assholes even had the gall to ask them if there was actually someone else that ever lived in the house besides themselves.

"Old and senile, my components," he muttered; the window was open, and outside he watched as the last of the cop cars vanished into the sunset, leaving a broken couple behind as they rode away, "can't rely on the police for anything, can you—"

Determination, so sudden in its arrival, struck him with the same force as a thunderbolt to his systems. There was no way Katz would ever let him near a phone or contacting device now…but there had to be another way to reach the child, even if it didn't rely on means of instant message…

He had an idea.

An idea so far-fetched, so insane and unplanned and possibly full of failure, he almost disguarded it immediately.

But the idea festered, grew and multiplied like a virus, and before he even realized it, the idea turned into a plan. A plan that he would never manage to pull off alone, a plan that would have been so much easier if the twit had any means of contact, but a plan nonetheless; and to put this plan in motion, he would need to rely on one of the elderlies for help.

At the sound of coughing, a deep, throaty cough filled with mucus and phlegm and other disgusting human fluids, Computer realized he had to put the plan in motion before it was too late.

* * *

><p>DUN-DUN-DUUUUN.<p>

I feel like things are finally starting to get in motion here: Katz is hiding something from Courage, LeQuack has something dastardly planned, Computer is ready to blow the house down if it means getting that twit back and Muriel's health is quickly deteriorating.

OH THE HUMANITY.

And my thing is, I honestly think Katz has a little obsession for our favorite hero; my theory is that Cornelius, even as a child had an unmatched IQ. He was very smart, very manipulative, and very dangerous, traits that continued to be even after reaching adulthood; he was unmatched, unquestioned, unchallenged, un-whatever, and could pretty much do what he wanted and could get away with it simply by his status and smarts, until little Courage showed up. Though just peeking his late teens, the boy was clever and cautious, and loved his family so much that he would rather see his own demise than witness theirs. And after the Katz motel, Cornelius himself began to realize this.

Never had he faced someone that was actually able to make a fool out of him and deface the family name; it became a hobby, then a need, and finally an obsession, to finally do away with his arch-nemesis. But when the chance arises, when he finally has his born enemy under him, weak and defenseless and so easy to kill, he can't do it. There's no challenge left for him if the boy is dead. So, the alternative? Keep him alive, keep the enemy close and keep the challenge safe; besides, there is still a chance he can help him along the way. And Courage will; whether he likes it or not, Courage will.

More Katz/Courage along the way. Bye y'all!


End file.
